L.A. Confidential Part 14
No answer--Jones kept his head down.
"Son, all you have to do is tell me where the guns are and tell me where Sugar left the car."
No answer.
"Son, this can be over in one minute. You tell me, and I get you transferred to a protective custody cell. Sugar won't be able to get you, Leroy won't be able to get you. The D.A. will let you turn state's. _You won't go to the gas chamber_."
No response.
"Son, six people are dead and somebody has to pay. It can be you or it can be Ray."
No answer.
"Tyrone, he called you a queer. He called you a sissy and a h.o.m.o. He said you took it up the--"
"I DIDN' KILL n.o.bODY!"
A strong voice--Ed almost jumped back. "Son, we have witnesses. We have evidence. Coates is confessing right now. He's saying you planned the whole thing. Son, save yourself. The guns, the car. _Tell me where they are_."
"I didn' kill n.o.body!"
"Sssh. Tyrone, do you know what Ray Coates said about you?"
Jones lifted his head. "I know he lie."
"I think he lied, too. I don't think you're a queer. I think he's a queer, because he hates women. I think he liked killing those women. I think you feel bad about--"
"We didn' kill no women!"
"Tyrone, where were you last night at 3:00 A.M.?"
No answer.
"Tyrone, why did Sugar Ray hide his car?"
No answer.
"Tyrone, why did you guys hide the shotguns you were shooting in Griffith Park? We have a witness who ID'd you on that."
No answer. Jones lolled his head-eyes shut, spilling tears.
"Son, why did Ray burn the clothes you guys were wearing last night?"
Jones keening now--animal stuff.
"They had blood on them, didn't they? You killed six G.o.dd.a.m.n people, you got sprayed. Ray did the clean-up, he tidied the loose ends, _he's_ the one who hid the shotguns, he's the boss man, he's been giving the orders since you were giving out b.u.t.thole up at Casitas. Spill, G.o.dd.a.m.n you!"
"WE DIDN' KILL n.o.bODY! I AINT NO f.u.c.kIN' QUEER!"
Ed circled the table--walking fast, talking slow. "Here's what I think. I think Sugar Ray's the boss, Leroy's just a dummy, you're the fat boy Sugar likes to tease. You all did road camp together, you and Sugar Ray got popped for Peeping Tom. Sugar liked looking at girls, you liked looking at boys. You both like looking at white folks, because that is the colored man's forbidden fruit. You had your 12-gauge pumps, you had your snazzy '49 Merc, you had some red devils you bought off Roland Navarette. You were up in Hollywood, white folks' neck of the woods. Sugar was teasing you about being fruit, you kept saying it was just because there were no girls around. Sugar says prove it, prove it, and you guys start peeping. You're getting mad, you're all flying on hop, it's late at night and there's nothing to look at, all those nice white folks have their curtains down. You drive by the Nite Owl, there's these nice white people inside-- and it is just too f.u.c.king much to take. Poor fat sissy Tyrone, he takes over. He leads his boys into the Nite Owl. Six people are there--three of them women. You drag them into the locker, you hit the cash register and make the cook open the safe. You take their billfolds and purses and you spill some perfume on your hands. Sugar says, 'Touch the girlies, sissy. Prove you ain't queer.' You can't do it so you start shooting and everybody starts shooting and you love it because finally you're more than a poor queer fat little n.i.g.g.e.r and--"
"NO! NO NO NO NO NO NO!"
"Yes! Where's the guns? You f.u.c.king confess and turn over the evidence or you'll go to the f.u.c.king gas chamber!"
"No! Didn' kill n.o.body!"
Ed hit the table. "Why'd you ditch the car?"
Jones lashed his head, spraying sweat.
"Why'd you burn the clothes?"
No answer.
"Where did the perfume come from?"
No answer.
"Did Sugar and Leroy rape the women first?"
"No!"
"Oh? You mean all three of you did?"
"We didn' kill n.o.body! We wasn't even there!"
"Where were you?"
No answer.
"Tyrone, where were you last night?"
Jones sobbed; Ed gripped his shoulders. "Son, you know what's going to happen if you don't talk. So for G.o.d's sake admit what you did."
"Didn' kill n.o.body. None of us. Wasn't even there."
"Son, you did."
"No!"
"Son, you did, so tell me."
"We didn'!"
"Hush now. Just tell me--_nice and slowly_."
Jones started babbling. Ed knelt by his chair, listened.
He heard: "Please G.o.d, I just wanted to lose my cherry"; he heard: "Didn't mean to hurt her so's we'd have to die." He heard: "Not right punish what we didn' do . . . maybe she be okay, she don't die so I don't die, 'cause I ain't no queer." He felt himself buzzing, electric chair, a sign on top: THEY DIDN'T DO IT.
Jones slipped into a reverie--Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Father Divine. Ed hit the #2 cubicle.
Rank: sweat, cigarette smoke. Leroy Fontaine--big, dark, processed hair, his feet up on the table. Ed said, "Be smarter than your friends. Even if you killed her, it's not as bad as killing six people."
Fontaine tweaked his nose--bandaged, spread over half his face. "This newspaper s.h.i.t ain't s.h.i.t."
Ed closed the door, scared. "Leroy, you'd better hope she was with you at the coroner's estimated time of death."
No answer.
"Was she a hooker?"
No answer.
"Did you kill her?"
No answer.
"You wanted Tyrone to lose his cherry, but things got out of hand. Isn't that right?"
No answer.
"Leroy, if she's dead and she was colored you can cop a plea. If she was white you might have a chance. Remember, we can make you for the Nite Owl, and we can make it stick. Unless you convince me you were somewhere else doing something bad, we'll nail you for what's in that newspaper."
No answer--Fontaine cleaned his nails with a matchbook.
A big lie. "If you kidnapped her and she's still alive, that's not a Little Lindbergh violation. It's not a capital charge."
No answer.
"Leroy, where are the guns and the car?"
No answer.
"Leroy, is she still alive?"
Fontaine smiled--Ed felt ice on his spine. "If she's still alive, she's your alibi. I won't kid you, it could get bad: kidnap, rape, a.s.sault. But if you eliminate yourself on the Nite Owl now, you'll save us time and the D.A. will like you for it. Kick loose, Leroy. Do yourself a favor."
No answer.
"Leroy, look how it can go both ways. I think you kidnapped a girl at gunpoint. You made her bleed up the car, so you hid the car. She bled on your clothes, so you burned the clothes. You got her perfume all over yourselves. If you didn't do the Nite Owl, I don't know why you hid the shotguns, maybe you thought she could identify them. Son, if that girl is alive she is the only chance you've got."
Fontaine said, "I thinks she alive."
Ed sat down. "_You think?_"
"Yeah, I thinks."
"Who is she? _Where is she?_"
No answer.
"Is she colored?"
"She Mex."
"What's her name?"
"I don' know. College-type b.i.t.c.h."
"Where did you pick her up?"
"I don' know. Eastside someplace."
"Where did you a.s.sault her?"
"I don' know . . . old building on Dunkirk somewheres."
"Where's the car and the shotguns?"
"I don' know. Sugar, he took care of them."
"If you didn't kill her, why did Coates hide the shotguns?"
No answer.
"Why, Leroy?"
No answer.
"Why, son? Tell me."
No answer.
Ed hit the table. "Tell me, G.o.ddammit!"
Fontaine hit the table--harder. "Sugar, he poked her with them guns! He 'fraid it be evidence!"
Ed closed his eyes. "Where is she now?"
No answer.
"Did you leave her at the building?"
No answer.
Eyes open. "Did you leave her someplace else?"